


Cobalt

by Alternatemate



Category: No Fandom, None - Fandom, Original - Fandom, Original Work, cobalt - Fandom
Genre: Cobalt - Freeform, Dieselpunk, Gen, Machines, Magic, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alternatemate/pseuds/Alternatemate
Summary: In a war-torn world filled with magic and machines, a young Cobalt struggles to survive.But things aren't so easy when you aren't human.





	1. Sparehand

Chapter 1: Sparehand

  
  
  


“Stop right there!”

I was cornered—backed up against the edge of a huge stone platform, surrounded by security golems—with the Chalice of Truth in my hands. ‘ _ Damn it Rheshi,’ _ I thought,  _ ‘you said this place would be empty!’  _ But seeing as that was not the case, I pressed a button on my communications bracelet and put my hands in the air. “Alright, alright, you’ve got me,” I said, “no need for violence.”

“The legendary Cyan Clawfoot,” said a familiar voice from behind the golems in front of me. A man in an immaculate blue uniform with golden accents—honestly a few too many—stepped forward between the golems, which moved aside to make room for their commander. “Stealing from nobles now? For what reason?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, Arcturus.”

Arcturus’ eye twitched at the mention of his first name. “Well, you’re right about something for once.” He stood straight. “Guards, seize him.”

The golems, stone and towering, lumbered towards me. I hoped that my friends got the signal. If they didn’t, it was over for me. I hopped backwards onto the parapet. The golems stopped in their tracks. “You see, Arcturus,” I said, “the reason you would never believe me…”

“Step  _ down _ , Clawfoot.”

“...is because you lack faith.”

“No!”

I stepped backwards into open air.

* * *

  
  


Cobalt Blackhorn yawned and rubbed his eyes. He stretched, closed the beat-up book he had been reading, and blinked a few times as he returned to reality. He was sitting on a wooden crate by the side of the road, waiting to be picked up for the day’s job. Standing around were other workers like him. ‘Sparehands,’ they were called. Ironic, considering that many of those idling by the side of the dirty, ill-maintained road lacked hands or their morphological equivalents, instead having been replaced with cybernetics either to better be able to do their jobs or to satisfy an augmetics addiction, which was not uncommon. At this thought, he absentmindedly raised his right hand and touched the cloth draped over where his left arm used to be. Underneath was hard metal—a mess of pistons and servo motors and wires; it was a constant reminder of how dangerous it was to be a Sparehand.

After a few more moments in the blue morning cold, a large transport truck drove up to the waiting area. Mechanical hissing, clanking and whirring filled the air as the workers stood up and formed a loose line leading to the vehicle. From the driver’s seat, a surly torik pointed a clawed finger into the small crowd of Sparehands.

“You,” it croaked, “specialty, ability.”

“Bolter, augmented,” said a ferrnos with hairy limbs like tree trunks, holding up a forearm that had been replaced with an industrial bolt hammer augment.

“In,” said the driver, gesturing towards the back of the truck. The ferrnos nodded and shambled towards the back of the truck, the heavy bags on his back rattling with tools. The driver pointed to the next person. “Specialty, ability.”

“Lifter, kinetic,” said a tall, bright-eyed karak. The driver briefly considered the young man’s words with an almost impressed expression before nodding. 

“In.”

The choosing continued for a few more minutes, those with the necessary skills told to get in the back of the truck and those without the necessary skills rejected by the driver and dejectedly leaving the queue. Eventually, it was Cobalt’s turn. The driver eyed his large horns, looking down at the short Khol’Or from the truck’s window. “Specialty, ability,” he said, sounding skeptical.

“Mechanic,” said Cobalt, standing up straight. His eyes wandered to his feet as he said the second word too quietly to be heard. Though the driver was already interested.

“Speak up, boy.”

“...augmented.”

“In.”

* * *

  
  


The truck left the slums not long after the last few workers were chosen. Outside, the environment gradually shifted from a dirty slum to barren fields dotted with mechanical scraps and the poor souls that sorted through them in hopes of finding anything worth selling. There were few plants larger than a rose bush to be found, the only flora able to grow in such a polluted landscape being small hardy shrubs and ivy-like crawling vines. Small rodents scurried about, having made homes in the many crevices that the technological wastes had to offer.

On the back of the truck, thirteen workers sat in the canvas-sheltered compartment, all being jostled around by the bumps and potholes in the road. Light from the clear plastic windows illuminated the residents. To the front was the hulking ferrnos, beside him sat three heavily-augmented merls that spoke to each other with quiet clicks, and to the back of the truck were the smelly, shifting figures of the feralis, each scarred and battered from their years of working. Cobalt sat near the middle of the compartment, facing the lanky karak, who was eyeing the book in Cobalt’s hands.

“What’ve you got there, mechanic?” said the karak, tilting his scaly head.

“It’s my uncle’s journal,” said Cobalt, closing the book and turning it over in his hands, ”about his adventures around the world.” He held it up proudly for him to see.

“Do you mind if I…?” 

Cobalt obliged, holding it out for him to take—but as his acquaintance reached out to take the journal, Cobalt pulled his hand back. “Careful,” he said seriously, waiting for him to nod before letting him take it.

The karak flipped through the book carefully, feeling at the leather bindings and parchment and inspecting the brass clasp. He handed it back to Cobalt, who took it and gently stuffed it into his satchel, wrapping it under a layer of soft cloth.

“The name’s Percy.”

Cobalt grasped the grey hand in front of him and shook it. “Cobalt,” he said, “I heard you were a kinetic?”

Percy smirked, pulling a coin out of his pocket. He tossed it into the air, where it hovered, spinning. It then fell back into his hand and he returned it to his pocket. “That’s right,” he said with a nod, “and are you really a mechanic?”

“Yeah,” said Cobalt, “I’m a mechanic.”

“We don't get a lot of those around here,” said Percy, “you’re lucky. People would  _ kill _ for those skills.” He rested his elbows on his knees. “What school did you go to?”

“No school, just a lot of experience… It’s a long story,” Cobalt explained, rubbing his hands together. He sighed and grinned, “are you karaks always this nosy?”

“Only to the interesting.” Percy winked and leaned in, pushing up his round glasses. “And you’re a Khol’Or, aren’t you? I thought you guys were extinct.”

“Oh, leave the poor kid alone, Perce’,” said a surprisingly deep voice to Cobalt’s right, a cylindrical bolt hammer the size of his torso lightly whacking Percy on the arm. The ferrnos produced a low rumbling noise that Cobalt guessed was a chuckle. 

“Come on, Orik, I’m just curious,” whined Percy, massaging his shoulder.

“Excuse my friend here,” said the ferrnos, “we get a lot of new guys, but we’ve never seen someone like you.” The seat creaked dangerously as he reached a rough hand across the merls—who complained at the intrusion— towards Cobalt. “Orik. Nice to meet you.”

Cobalt grimaced as his entire forearm felt as if it was being crushed by the handshake. He managed to squeak out his name and the unusual torture ended. Percy opened his mouth to ask another question, but was interrupted when the truck suddenly stopped, sending loose items rattling onto the metal truck bed. A buzzer sounded, indicating they were at their destination. Regardless, the driver felt the need to tell them to get out. Nobody wasted any time in doing so, to Cobalt’s relief; it was getting stuffy in the compartment.

Outside, the sounds of construction could be heard. They were at the drop-off point, a ways away from the factory where they would be working. Cobalt looked up at the huge concrete buildings around him, all heavily reinforced to withstand the stresses of constructing the heaviest machines. Near him, a loudspeaker crackled to life.

“ _ You are doing your nation a service! Work hard and you shall be rewarded in time! _ ” shouted a tinny voice from the top of the speaker pole.

A bald human in overalls significantly less tattered than everyone else’s walked up to the waiting group of Sparehands and gestured for them to follow him. Heavy boots clacked on the ground as they walked, the different gaits of the workers creating an unnatural rhythm. He was leading them to the gigantic factory up ahead in the largest building. . It was the largest building around, with looming smokestacks and pounding house-sized hammers that made the ground shake more and more as they got closer. Spires of steel stretched up all around it, pipes and wires making a geometric web around the structure. This was where their skills would be put to use for today, as it had been for months now. This was the birthplace of machines of war.


	2. When We Get Out Of Here

Deep inside the main factory building, the group of Sparehands walked past hissing walker-machines that shook the ground with each robotic footfall. Sparks and flecks of metal fell from the higher assembly bays, which were obscured by thick, yellow-tinted smog and haphazardly-placed wiring. Workers shuffled about on perforated steel walkways that wound above and below them in grids, suspended by steel cables. Finished machine hulls and fresh materials were transported in cages by hanging cranes and loaded into the backs of trucks. Gigantic support beams as thick as houses extended from the concrete floor to the hazy ceiling far above.

They eventually arrived at Assembly Bay 41, on the ground floor, where the human left them. The waiting supervisor, another feralis, began barking orders at the Sparehands. He addressed each of them in turn, referring to diagrams on a folding table and making sure that the workers fully understood what they were supposed to be doing before sending them on their way. Today they would be constructing the main structure of a gigantic warrior-suit, which resembled a heavily-armored tin can with four mechanical piston-driven limbs.

Percy began levitating metal plates and bolts up to the waiting Orik, who had climbed the scaffold surrounding the suit and was bolting its parts together, the metal hull ringing loudly with each inserted specialized bolt. The merls dealt with the wiring around and within the suit, smoothly cutting, threading, and attaching it to the ports that were outlined in the diagram provided by the supervisor. The feralis, most of which resembled raccoons, worked together to weld and grind the more delicate parts of the suit together, mainly near the joints of the arms and legs.

Inside, Cobalt squeezed underneath the massive engine of the machine and began modifying it as needed, using his augmetic left arm to tighten screws and other components, the servos whirring and pistons hissing. A couple of times, a loose part threatened to crush or bludgeon his legs, but he was protected by his boots and the plates of light metal that he had attached to his thick brown overalls. Oil and grease coated his blue fur and the cold steel underneath him made him shiver.

The work continued for several hours before a loud buzz resounded in the building, followed by the sounds of heavy equipment and tools powering down. The clicks of makeshift safety harnesses being disconnected and armor plates being dropped echoed around the assembly bays. It was time to take a break and everyone in the massive building simply could not wait.

Cobalt, covered in black machine fluids and dirt, leant his back against the railings of a walkway and removed a sandwich from his satchel. After finishing his sandwich, he wiped his hands on a cloth from his bag before unwrapping his journal and opening it. He read of the tales of his uncle, Cyan Clawfoot, who explored the world to find enchanted artifacts. Descriptions of far-away places and beautiful scenery flooded through Cobalt’s mind, entrancing him with fantasies of finding a better place than where he was now. Stories of duels and battles between men with magical powers and enchanted artifacts inspired him, making him forget the pains and sores in his body. He had read through the journal many times before, but he had never tired of doing so. It was his escape, his haven away from the not-so-favorable reality that he found himself in. In this single book, he could get lost forever.

“Still reading, mechanic?” said Percy through a mouthful of a nutrient bar, walking up and taking a seat by him to better peer at the contents of the book. Although he did not have a bead of sweat on him, he looked just as tired as everyone else. Though more efficient and less straining, using kinetic abilities was not unlike moving an object with one’s own hands. “What’s so interesting in there?”

“Oh, it’s the places,” said Cobalt, tracing his finger along lines that described wonderful cities for Percy to read, “I’d like to go to this one sometime: ‘Mallorus Prime, the city of the new world, where all are equal.’”

“Sounds like a plan. Say, want to see a picture of it?”

Cobalt perked up, not believing what he was hearing. He did a double-take and looked at Percy with a mixture of shock and excitement. He asked him to repeat himself.

“A picture... of Mallor,” said Percy, producing a small photograph from a pocket in his own bag and handing it to Cobalt, who took it. “Careful,” he added with a smirk.

Cobalt gazed with awe at the city in the photograph. It was just as he’d imagined it from the words of the journal: The sun was setting behind the beautiful, towering skyscrapers, each with balconies and terraces filled with green plants that flowed up and over the sills and fell like water; majestic homes that spoke of rich and well-established inhabitants; and the lights, oh the lights… Cobalt let out a sigh, almost tearing up. “How did you…?”

“Yeah,” said Percy with a laugh, “my family sent me that. I felt the same way you do now when I first saw it.”

“Your family lives in Mallor? Why are you here then?”   
  


“Sometimes you need to make a trade, mechanic,” said Percy with a hint of melancholy as he relaxed against the railing behind him. “Tell you what: when we get out of here, that’s the first place we’re going. What do you say?” Percy extended his hand.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Cobalt through a bright smile, shaking Percy’s hand with vigor.

Cobalt returned the picture to Percy, who placed it back in his bag. They sat in silence, Percy eating packed nutrient bars and Cobalt eating his second sandwich. The mood was noticeably lighter; everything seemed bubbly for Cobalt, who could not stop smiling at what he had just heard.


End file.
